


Hallow Of The Spears

by KelpietheThundergod



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Episode: s11e02 Form and Void, Hurt Castiel, Hurt Dean Winchester, M/M, Rowena's Attack Dog Spell, Season/Series 11, based on s11e03 The Bad Seed spoilers but taking liberties
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-20
Updated: 2015-10-20
Packaged: 2018-04-27 07:48:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,750
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5040046
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KelpietheThundergod/pseuds/KelpietheThundergod
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Something breaks. It doesn't make a sound. Just repeats in his head – this isn't right. This isn't right. The pile of lore books is like a crumbling wall, a broken shield. It barely registers with him. His breath is stuck in his throat, and then he's on his knees. Has to know that this is real. Reaches a hand out for Cas' shoulder, frantic, “Cas, are you – ?” It lasts just a second. Just a second to feel how hot Cas feels even through the fabric, muscles trembling minutely. And then Cas struggles up on one elbow and pushes Dean's hand away like it's burned him, shifts back abruptly. “Don't – don't.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hallow Of The Spears

**Author's Note:**

  * For [pirrofarfalla (singsilverlight)](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=pirrofarfalla+%28singsilverlight%29).



 

 

 

_three wars fought on earth_

_a lone spear in the darkest cavern_

_seven fought in heaven_

_with a single flame_

 

 

 

 

Something breaks. It doesn't make a sound. Just repeats in his head – this isn't right. This isn't right. The pile of lore books is like a crumbling wall, a broken shield. It barely registers with him. His breath is stuck in his throat, and then he's on his knees. Has to know that this is _real_. Reaches a hand out for Cas' shoulder, frantic, “Cas, are you – ?” It lasts just a second. Just a second to feel how hot Cas feels even through the fabric, muscles trembling minutely. And then Cas struggles up on one elbow and pushes Dean's hand away like it's burned him, shifts back abruptly. “Don't – don't.” Dean freezes, swallows painfully. Cas' eyes are red, blood pushing to the surface. There's fear under the red, a bright and piercing thing. Guilt pours icy and bitter into Dean's guts, he has to grit his teeth against it.

“It's – it's dangerous,” Cas is grounding out, heaving in a breath like even forming those words is hurting him. “A spell, I can't – control it.” Sam's shoulder is brushing Dean's, he's crouched down beside him.

“Was that – ” Sam cuts himself off, but Cas seems to understand, nods wearily. Sam blows out a hard breath, then pushes forward, grips Cas' shoulders despite his weak protests. “C'mon, we'll figure this out. Dean?”

He helps getting Cas to his feet. This time Cas doesn't flinch away, but he has closed his eyes. Dean lets go off him as soon as they have Cas seated, takes a step away from him. Fingers twitching at his sides, anxious. Cas still has his eyes closed, is hugging his arms around himself. Like he doesn't trust any part of himself. Dean clenches his jaw, turns his face away. Motions vaguely behind himself, tells the floor, “I'll go get some chains.”

They secure the chains to the floor. Cas looks slightly more relaxed when they're done, but he still has his eyes closed, is shivering. The chains clink against the leg of the chair.

Dean drags a hand down his face. Doesn't look at Sam when he says, “Gonna get some blankets.” Doesn't wait for a reply, just turns on his heels, keeps his head down. He ends up in his own room somehow, watches his hands strip his own blanket from his bed and gather it up in his arms. Then stills, has to close his eyes and force himself to breathe deeply for a moment. Until now, he's been able to focus, stay in the present. Figure out this mess, push through. Maybe it was just a matter of time until something broke him open again. Letting everything seep in he's had to suppress in order to keep going.

Dean clenches his fingers, the familiar softness of the fabric grounding and condemning him at once. His knuckles throb with the phantom pain of splitting open against someone else's skin.

With an effort, he turns around. Holds the blanket close to his heart, turns off the light in his room.

>

Sam already has several lore books and files spread out on the table when Dean returns. Is scribbling something down on a notepad, “So, when there's more people, it gets worse?”

Cas is nodding with his eyes closed, expression screwed up in pain. He's holding himself very still, as if afraid the smallest movement could set him off. Dean stops about an arm's length away from him, holds the blanket out. “Cas?”

Cas opens his eyes, blinks blearily up at Dean. There's so much red where there should be blue. Dean can't help searching for it. Cas breathes, roughs out a brittle but honest sounding “Thank you.” Their fingers brush when he takes the blanket, and Dean hurriedly steps away. Cas stops, his eyes snapping up to Dean's. There's hurt in them, sadness. They stare at each other. Dean feels as if there are hooks in his skin, pulling him in two different directions.

The sound of something metallic hitting the floor finally makes him jerk his gaze away. Sam is bending down, picking something up that had fallen off the table. Obviously avoiding looking at either of them. Dean clears his throat, turns and jerkily pulls a chair up to sit down opposite Sam. “Anything?”

Sam frowns down at his notes, twirls a ballpoint pen between his fingers. “Definitely the same spell she's used before. I'm guessing it just – ” he grimaces, motions vaguely, “Spreads slower because Cas is an angel.”

Dean puts his arms on the table, rubs his thumb against his forefinger. “Yeah. Right.” Two of the three lore books at Sam's elbow are stained, their pages darkened with accelerant. Dean shifts in his seat, “You got – ”

A groan from the other end of the table interrupts him. Dean's eyes immediately snap over to Cas, whose face is scrunched up. It looks like he's struggling to breathe flatly. “Cas, you okay?”

Cas makes a motion like he's nodding and shaking his head at the same time. “Yes, I'm – it just burns.”

Dean's finger curl on the tabletop. He shoves his chair back abruptly, stands, “I'll get you some cold water.”

There's the sound of fabric shifting behind him, the chains clinking softly. Cas saying “That won't – ”

But Dean doesn't look, doesn't listen. Has to just _do_ something.

He ends up standing in front of the sink in the kitchen, filling and emptying and refilling a glass with tap water. The temperature just doesn't feel right. His fingers finally begin to ache from holding them under the icy spray for so long, testing it again and again. Dean fills the glass one last time, puts it on the counter. Drags his hands down his face, _get a grip_. Flinches at the cold touch of his own skin. Looks around in an attempt to stop the reeling of his thoughts. The kitchen hasn't been ransacked, but Dean feels like it's empty in here. Is stuck by the sudden notion that he can't even remember the last time he cooked here, the last time there was laughter and warmth and safety. His heart clenches. He picks up the glass, leaves quickly.

>

Sam eyes him strangely when Dean comes back but doesn't comment. He's thumbing through his notes but not really looking at them when he clears his throat, “We, uh. We probably need a witch.” His gaze flickers up to Dean's and then away again, he shifts his weight uncomfortably.

Dean sets the glass down in front of Cas. Cas seems to be trying to catch Dean's eyes, but Dean keeps his head down. Sits back down with a sigh, rubs at his forehead.

“Of course we do.”

Sam shuffles his notes on top of each other, edges neatly aligned. He's all business when he starts going through his phone's contact list, only sign of nerves the tension in his jaw. “I'll ask around if anyone knows someone who knows someone.”

With that, he stands and walks out. Dean lets him, even though the ensuing quiet feels oppressive. He turns Sam's laptop towards himself, checks the news sites. Most of the reports are focused on the 'freak weather', their content conflicting and vague. From the corners of his vision, he sees Cas sip at his water. Then grimace, and just press the cool glass against his forehead. Dean keeps at it for another few minutes, then shoves the laptop away, rubs at his eyes. “Cas, listen – ” he starts, just as Cas says, “Dean, this is still too dangerous.”

Dean lifts his head, looks at Cas. Cas is setting the half-empty glass back on the table, huddles back into Dean's blanket. He meets Dean's eyes, weary but determined. “I could lose control over this any second. You should – lock me up somewhere.”

Dean tenses, images of the bare and shadowed walls of the dungeon flashing through his head. Lined with weapons, no sounds getting through. He shakes his head, argues “Dude, you are _literally_ chained to a chair.”

Cas fixes him with a hard stare, “I don't want to hurt anyone else, Dean. I _can't_ endanger your life. Or Sam's.” Then his expression softens somewhat, sadness seeping through the urgency. “We almost lost you, Dean.”

Dean has to swallow, his throat too tight for words. Can't deal with what's on Cas' face, has to look away. The silence stretches, finally becomes too much. Dean makes to shove away from the table, “I should go check on – ” Fingers curl around his wrist, the grip urgent and tight. Cas looks contrite, his eyes darkened and intent and unfamiliar. Dean goes still, tenses instinctively. Cas must notice, but doesn't comment on it.

“Could you stay? I think it's – helping.” Cas is still holding onto him, skin hot and dry.

Dean frowns but sits back down. “Didn't you say it's worse when someone's near?”

One corner of Cas' mouth tugs up in an almost smile, “Maybe it's just you.”

Dean feels his face heat even while guilt ties his insides into knots, he scoffs, “Yeah, right.”

Cas' thumb briefly strokes at the sensitive skin over his wrist, then he withdraws his hand. Dean shivers, curls his fingers into a loose fist. Grits his teeth against the sense of loss.

Cas closes his eyes again and Dean stays. Forces himself to listen to Cas' uneven breathing, the dragging of the chains when Cas shifts in pain. Neither of them speak again until Sam comes back, holding up his phone, “Think I found someone.”

>

Cas doesn't want to come with them. He shakes his head, “I'm a danger to everyone out there. You should just – ”

Dean cuts him off with a decisive gesture, “We're not leaving you here alone, forget it.”

Cas makes to protest again but then Sam intercedes, “We don't know how much time we have left. This will go much faster and safer if you just come with us.” He's sitting, looking up directions online. Dean is standing, arms crossed over his chest. Stuck between the urge to move and Cas' request for him to stay.

Cas sighs, resigned. He doesn't look convinced, but he doesn't protest again.

Sam helps him up the stairs, Dean carrying their bags. Cas gently but firmly shoves Sam away as soon as they've reached the car, “I should stay in the back.” Dean stuffs everything in the trunk, moves on autopilot. It's dark already, a cold drizzle raining down. He rummages around until he finds a woolen blanket, shoves it at Cas just as he's about to sit down in the backseat. Stops short of clapping Cas on the shoulder, brushing the sweat-damp hair away from his forehead. Focuses on the dark around them, checks their 360 even though there's nothing to see but shadows and fog. A shiver runs up his back. He squares his shoulders, gets behind the wheel.

The radio roars to life as soon as he turns the engine over. He switches it off in disgust. Asks, as soon as they're on the main road, “So, this Ada, she just happens to be on our side?”

Sam nods beside him, “Apparently. She's new though. No one's heard of her until two weeks ago.”

Dean grips the steering wheel tighter, stares into the fog swirling in the Impala's headlights. “And she just happens to squat in Kansas City. What a coincidence.”

Sam sighs, says quieter, “She's all we got right now.”

Dean curls his finger around the wheel. It feels damp and cold, why does everything feel so fucking cold. “Yeah,” he replies at length, voice tight.

He can barely see Cas, who has curled up under the blanket behind him. Who is pressing his forehead against the cool window, barely moves for the entire four hours to Kansas City.

>

It's all dank alleys and moldy brick buildings, rusty fire escapes. They're three streets away from their destination when Cas groans, “Dean. Dean, stop the car.”

“Cas?”

It's too dark in the car. With the way Cas is sitting, the mirrors are no help. Dean curses even as Sam twists around in his seat, demanding “Cas, what's wrong? Cas!” Doesn't get an answer either.

They've barely stopped when the backdoor opens, followed by a thump and the rattle of the chains. Dean wrenches his own door open, pushes outside. Cas is slumped over on his knees, breathing heavily. His head hung low. Dean takes him by the shoulders, tries to catch his eyes.

“Ca-”

Cas lunges for him, so abruptly Dean doesn't even have time to shift back. The hit against his temple pushes him sideways; he looses his balance, cracks his head against the side of the car. Dean's hand scrapes against rough and wet concrete, trying to stop his fall. His head spins, pain splitting his vision and making his bile rise. Someone grabs him by the arm, heaves him up. Dean tenses instinctively, then Sam's voice cuts through the ringing in his ears, “Dean! Can you hear me?”

“Ugh.” He has to swallow, squeeze his eyes shut for a few seconds, “Cas, where's Cas?”

Sam blows out a hard breath somewhere above him, “Gone. He broke the chains. But he can't have come far, we can just – ”

Dean braces a hand against the car, pushes himself to standing. Wipes at the cut on his forehead before the blood starts running into his eye. Starts to shake his head and then grimaces, _bad idea_. “Go. Make sure she's got everything ready, I'll go after him.” Sam hesitates, then nods curtly. The driver's side door slams shut behind Dean's back, and then he's running.

>

His lungs are burning in the cold air, the drizzle getting into his eyes. Dean's just about to turn right when a scream sounds to his left. Pale halogenous light cuts through the dimness; the backdoor to a warehouse that's halfway open. The metal of it is freezing under his fingers. Inside, half-empty shelves are rusting under buzzing cold lights. Then someone's shouting, “No! Get back, get away from me!” Dean turns the corner so fast he almost slams his shoulder against the side of a shelf. And then there's Cas, holding a terrified looking woman by the throat, snarling into her face. On the ground beside them, a metal bar and a purse with its contents spilling out.

“Cas, let her go!”

Cas doesn't seem to hear him. See him.

Dean slows down when he's still several feet away, holds up his hands. Comes closer slowly, tries to inch into Cas' line of vision.

“Cas.”

Cas' eyes flicker over to him, briefly. Deep-red and angry. His hold on the woman only tightens, she chokes.

“Cas.”

Dean is directly beside him now. Puts a hand on Cas' arm, “Let her – ” Cas' focus switches to him, he growls, furious. Pushes the woman to the floor and Dean up against the shelf, nails digging painfully in his skin even through his layers. The woman tries to scramble to her feet, coughing, her chest heaving. Dean yells at her, “Go!” She hesitates only for a moment, then clumsily gets to her feet, runs. Cas' head snaps around to follow the movement, his muscles tense. Dean manages to twist the fingers of one hand in the front of Cas' shirt, “Cas, hey, look at me!”

It's an effort, but Dean forces his muscle to relax. Drops his voice, “Cas, it's the spell. You can fight it, I know you – ” Fingers, hot and impossibly strong close around his throat. Dean chokes, tilts his head up. Gets a hold of Cas' wrist but can't match his strength. Tries to force the words out anyway; they come out strangled, hoarse, “Cas - - you're safe. We're safe.” Cas snarls, bares his teeth. Pushes Dean further up the shelf, until his heels kick at air. Something is digging into Dean's back, cutting through his jacket and into his skin with a pointed edge. Dean's heart is pounding in his throat, lungs straining and burning like hot pokers shoved under his ribs.

“Cas – ” Black spots are swimming in his vision. His fingers barely cooperate, but he rubs a soothing circle against the soft skin of Cas' inner wrist. Keeps holding onto Cas' shirt with the other. Cas draws in a shuddering breath, then suddenly Dean's knees crash hard and painful against the floor, the impact running all the way up his back. Cas' hold around his throat doesn't loosen, he's digging the fingers of his other hand into Dean's shoulder, as if trying to get him to let go. Dean has to blink, the buzzing in his head so loud he can barely hear the rough drag of his own words. “Cas.” It's so dark. The lights above must be going out, one by one. “You can stop. You're safe.”

Darkness is eating his vision, and then there's a broken sound above him.

The merciless grip holding him falls abruptly away; he tips to the side without it, can barely hold himself up. Air rushes in, his heart rate going into overdrive. Gasps turn into a hacking cough, and for a long moment he can do nothing but fight for consciousness not to leave him. The broken sounds continue, but move away from him. And then, the cry of metal dragged over a stone floor. “Cas,” he struggles to push himself up, stumbles over to him, “No.”

Cas has crawled over to the metal bar, is dragging it towards himself with his fingers. With his back to Dean, edge pointed at himself. Dean crashes down beside him, grips the metal bar tightly and wrenches it out of Cas' weak grip, hauls it away from the both of them. It lands with a clatter, rolls for a moment and then lies still. Cas' face is turned away from Dean, his breath hiccuping, his arms trembling. “Cas.” Carefully, he lays an arm around Cas' shoulders, drags him up close until Cas' back is pressed against his chest. Rubs at his upper arms, “Just breathe, it's okay.” Dean's lungs are still in spasms, his voice is wrecked. Cas shudders against him, whimpers turning into gasps. He shifts in Dean's hold, presses the side of his face against Dean's chest.

Dean runs a hand up and down his back. Tries not to flinch when Cas' arm goes around him, fingers twisting into Dean's jacket. Cas draws in another ragged breath, speaks muffled and brittle against Dean's chest, “You're not safe.” His hold tightens around Dean, “You're not safe, I wanted you _safe_.”

Dean's throat closes up at the words, the movements of his hand faltering. “Cas, it's not your fault.” He swallows, makes to continue only to be reduced to coughing again. Cas draws out of his hold, blotchy face draining further of color when he looks at Dean. His fingers curl on his knees, gaze falling away and towards the ground. “I hurt that woman,” he grits out, “I hurt _you_ , Dean I can't – ”

Sirens start howling in the distance. Dean struggles up, grips Cas' arm. Holds his eyes, doesn't let him look away. “Can you walk?” Hauls him to feet when he nods, numbly. They stumble past the shelf Cas had pushed him up against. The upper half is empty, the lower one stacked with metal bars longer than Dean's arm, thin and gleaming coldly. He turns his back on them, Cas' arm thrown over his shoulders, weight pulling him down. His lungs burn, but he doesn't stop.

>

They make it past one block, then Sam runs into them. Breath forming a mist in front of his face, thrown into pale red and blue by the neon lights. He starts when he sees them, but Dean shakes his head, panting, “Where's she?”

Sam frowns at the sound of his voice, eyes flickering over Dean even while he answers, contrite, “She wouldn't come with me. Only meets people in her – office.”

Dean is just about to ask, then shakes his head again, “Whatever.”

The house they finally stop in front of is dark, not a single light in any window. Dean has to lean against the brick wall, motion for Sam to take Cas' weight, another coughing fit making his throat burn. The drizzle has stopped, but the sky is black and starless.

Sam has to pry Cas' fingers free from their hold on Dean's jacket, bends down when Cas just sags against him. Cas has his eyes screwed shut, is breathing heavy and uneven.

Ada's office is on the third story.

On the door are faded letters, it's slightly ajar. Sam shoulders through it sideways, is already inside while Dean is still struggling up the stairs. When he comes into the room, Sam is standing in front of a large desk on the right side. Ada is sitting behind it, her feet propped up on top of it, thrown into pale light by the streetlamp filtering through the half-closed blinds. She looks impassive, throws Dean a brief glance when he leans panting against the door. Her platinum blond hair is cut short above her neck, a long thin cigarette delicately held between two fingers. The smoke curls around her in soft waves, itching at the back of Dean's throat.

Ada fixes her ice-blue eyes on Cas, drawls lazily, “Put him on the cot.”

Cas makes incoherent protesting noises when Sam lowers him down, fingers twitching restlessly. Ada stands, walks over to him. She's wearing black leather, and something clinks with every step, a sound like spurs against bare stone. Ada crouches down, holds a hand up in front of Cas' face, fingers splayed wide, without touching him. Cas hisses, turns his face away. Ada hums thoughtfully in the back of her throat, and Dean moves closer until he stands beside them. Crosses his arms in front of his chest and frowns down at her, “Can you help him?”

Ada stuffs her cigarette out on the floor, drags three fingers through the ash like it doesn't burn her at all. “Mhmm. Hold him still.”

Cas flinches when Dean scoops up behind him, every muscle coiled tight. Dean curls an arm over Cas' chest, covers Cas' eyes with his other hand. Cas starts fighting Dean's hold as soon as Ada reaches for him, his fingers digging into Dean's knee. Somewhere to the left, Sam is shifting uneasily on his feet. Dean focuses on Ada's ash-smeared fingers, reaching for Cas' throat and stopping inches away from his skin. Cas strains away from them, gasps. The light falling in through the blind changes, moves over the walls. Ada draws in a deep breath, utters three violent sounding words in a voice deeper and rougher than before.

Cas stops moving and then sags against Dean, breathing flatly. Dean shifts on the cot, takes his hand away from Cas eyes but they stay closed.

“Cas?”

Ada sits back on her heels. Fishes a new cigarette and a lighter out of her pocket, the flame briefly illuminating the surrounding dimness when she lights up. “Don't bother. He's gonna be out for a while.”

She stands, moves back to her desk. Sam shifts closer until he's standing beside Dean, watches her sit back down. “You're lucky I hate that bitch so much,” she drawls, props her feet up on the desk again. Raises an eyebrow at them and blows smoke in their direction, “Or this would've cost you a _lot_ more.”

Dean tenses, clears his throat. “So you're uh. One of these Grand Coven people?”

Ada flicks ash onto the floor, unimpressed, “Nope. Hate 'em too.”

Dean shares a look with Sam, “Uh, okay.”

Ada flicks a hand in their direction, impatient. Then grins through the smoke, teeth shark-white. “Now. Give me all the cash you got.”

She watches Dean impassively when he hands it over. Then suddenly her hand shoots out, she grips Dean's forearm. Stares into Dean's eyes for a moment, then abruptly lets go again. Settles back in her chair and ashes on the floor, “Now get out. I have other clients.”

She doesn't look at them again.

>

Outside, Dean has to lean against the car and just breathe for a moment. Feels like the smoke is still around him, in his head, heavy as fog. His throat burns and feels swollen.

Sam slams the backdoor shut where he has deposited Cas, throws Dean a look over the roof of the car. “You want some painkillers?”

Dean grimaces, then shakes his head. The stuff makes him drowsy. He'd rather not close his eyes right now. He settles in the shotgun seat, shoots one last look up the dark house when they pull away. “You think that was too easy?” Sam grimaces, likely thinking the same, and Dean scrubs a hand down his face, “Forget it.” Cas is still out of it, but at least his sleep looks restful, now. Dean stares at the streetlights flashing by outside, tries not to think. Not to fall asleep. It must happen at some point anyway, because suddenly Sam is shaking his shoulder, urgently saying his name.

“What, what's wrong?” He shifts upright in his seat, blinks his eyes open. His heart is hammering, he feels cold all over.

Sam is readjusting his hands on the steering wheel, clears his throat. Doesn't look at Dean when he says, “You were, uh. Snoring.”

Dean drags a hand over his eyes, feels the lingering traces of anxiety tingle on his skin. “Right.” He watches a road sign flash by – they're almost there. Almost home. Cas shifts in the backseat, then lies still again. Dean rubs absently at his wrist. Watches thin slivers of light spread above the horizon.

>

Cas groans and sits up blearily when Dean shakes him awake, “Dean? Where are we?” His hair is a mess and he looks pale. Eyes slightly red-rimmed but definitely blue again.

“Home,” Dean says, feeling tired down to his bones. He tugs at Cas' shoulder, “Come on.”

Dean throws a blanket over Cas once he's lied down on one of their spare beds, then sits down on the edge of it against his better judgment. He should go help Sam get their stuff out of the car. Should check up on the news, see if there's anything that might be connected to the Darkness. Should wipe the blood off his face.

Instead, he sits there, rests his head in his hands.

Cas' breaths beside him are deep and even. Dean thinks he's asleep, but then there's the shifting of fabric, the warm touch of Cas' hand on his back.

“Dean?”

Cas is watching him, eyes soft with exhaustion and concern.

Dean swallows, tries to smile. “How you feeling?”

Cas studies him for another moment before answering, “Better, I think.” He pauses, briefly moves his hand in a circle over Dean's back, then stills again. “I'm very sorry, Dean.”

Dean scoffs, “Pretty sure you're not the one who should say he's sorry, Cas.”

Cas takes a breath, his voice is firmer when he says, “You weren't yourself either. And you had a right to be angry – I had lied to you about so many things.” He sighs, shifts on the bed. Adds, in a smaller voice, “I hated it.”

Dean grits his teeth, rubs at the bridge of his nose. Keeps his eyes closed, because this is easier, in the dark. “So what, we've hurt each other and now we're even, that's it?” He tries to sound angry, defensive. But the hurt seeps through.

Cas is quiet for a long moment. He withdraws his hand from Dean' back, and then his fingers curl around Dean's where they're twisted in the sheets.

He speaks slowly, as if carefully choosing each word. “I would like to know – if you would show me. How to touch you without hurting you.”

Dean's breathing hitches, his eyes burn. He should draw away. Demand, what does that _mean_? But he knows. Can't look at Cas. Can't move.

Cas strokes over his knuckles, his touch warm and so soft Dean has to turn his face away. “You don't have to answer now,” Cas says. Patient, like they will have time for this. Like he believes in this.

Cas shifts closer, curls around where Dean is sitting. Falls asleep. Dean draws out of his lax grip, then hesitantly covers Cas' hand with his own. Looks down at the shadows to his feet, thrown by the soft glow of the beside lamp. Breathes. Nothing breaks.


End file.
